


falling into grace.

by dre_amer



Series: fallen angel dream [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fallen Angel Dream, Fallen Angels, Flustered Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Gay Panic, Grudging Respect, Heaven, Heaven & Hell, How Do I Tag, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, Immortal Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), King Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mentioned GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sad with a Happy Ending, Scars, Song: Angel With A Shotgun (The Cab), Suicidal Thoughts, Technoblade Has Braided Hair (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Wings, dream is a panicked gay, falling, i need to sleep, idk go along with it my dudes, techno’s confident gay for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dre_amer/pseuds/dre_amer
Summary: inspired by "angel with a shotgun" by the cab; not a songfic tho C:Dream's a fallen angel from heaven, Techno's a former king, and they've both been banished for being too violent — what could go wrong between them?DISCLAIMER: I’m not shipping the irl people, just the online personas they’ve put out onto the internet — which is why I’ll never refer to them as their real names in my fics (unless, of course, the plot demands).Don’t like? Then don’t read! Neither of these CCs have specifically mentioned or claimed that they’re uncomfortable with shipping, so I’m just going to chill here with my DNB and serotonin.also, TW // suicidal thoughts (mostly at the start, but mentions of it sprinkled throughout the fic — read at your own risk) , slightly religious themes.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: fallen angel dream [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105757
Comments: 34
Kudos: 433





	falling into grace.

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't listened to angel with a shotgun, then what are you doing? go listen to it RIGHT NOW *points water gun at you* i'll even give you the link  
> https://youtu.be/Oxd6pXSYkzE 
> 
> are you back now? good :) 
> 
> oooookay, so, this one is just kinda.... random? like, this was something that i started around like two weeks ago and just picked back up after having abandoned it halfway through... you have no idea how hard it was to continue the flow (if it even exists LOL) hhhHHH
> 
> another sad dream fic because i'm a sucker for those :periodt: anyways yeah have fun reading C: more notes at the end btw
> 
> just in case people didn’t read the summary: TW // suicidal thoughts , slightly religious themes.

_The light swept across the sparkling white marble floor, blinding to any individual that didn’t belong there._

Dream never expected for the gleaming quartz to glare into his eyes and force him to squeeze them shut, but here he is, pushed down onto his knees with his eyes and throat burning, wings clipped back painfully. There are black, glowing binds around his wrists, which look fluid but in reality dig into his fragile skin harshly. 

_A sweet giggle fell from soft, peachy lips, satiny smooth ivory wings fluttering behind his lean form. Deep green eyes framed with long, plush golden lashes blinked, thin pupils skipping across the nearly emptied hall. His hair of pure, spun gold spilled out of his bun, scattering across his forehead and flowing down his back._

The elders’ voices are ringing in his ears, bouncing around his head. It hurts, and Dream wants to curl up into a ball with his hands over his ears and block everything out and scream because it all hurts and he wants it all to go away.

_Dream glanced over at his friends, and their brilliance — the downy wings, the gauzy robes and gleaming halos, the sharp cutting edges of their regal and stony features — almost blinded his forest green irides._

_But his fellow angels were full of grace, and that softened the harsh glare of everything else that burned into his eyes. Dream knew that he was the same — graceful and sharp, stern and unforgiving — and he feels a shallow contentment, resigning himself to the fact his life will always be like this._

_What I wouldn’t give to be a true angel once more,_ Dream thinks. The head elder rumbles something about his existence being exiled, about his soul being tainted with the greedy touch of sin, about his grace and name being torn away from him — and then Dream is falling, falling, falling, and everything burns around him as he falls and takes his grace with him.

* * *

Dream's mouth twitches as his back cracks obnoxiously loudly, sounds of fluttering feathers filling the air as he stretches his ruined wings for the first time in months. He isn’t amused, no — there are sparks and crackles of pain racing up and down his spine as he attempts to stretch, and his wings — dear Herobrine, his wings.

Every little movement sends prickles of pain crawling across his formerly ivory wings, the ragged edges of the feathers bristling stiffly in the wind that curls around Dream's figure. The gentle, invisible pressure against his wings makes Dream want to fall — to fall, like he did so long ago, from the highest point in this universe. 

He yearns for it; he knows — _hopes, but Dream tricks himself into thinking he knows_ — that the fall will trigger his memories of heaven. He knows _(hopes)_ that he’ll be able to see them just once again, and thinks that it wouldn’t be so bad for his former friends and glory to be the last thing he thinks of before he hits the jagged rocks below and snuffs out any remaining grace he has left. 

That would be enough for him, Dream thinks faintly. Just another glimpse of what he’d had before, what he could have continued to have. That would be enough. 

The blonde glances back at his ebony wings — at the rugged, sharp edges of his feathers, at the various burn and scorch marks, at the ruined sheen of the feathery appendages — and turns back around, willing the pressure in the back of his throat away. His green eyes burn, and Dream swipes at them jerkily, frustration clear in his tense posture. 

His gaze flickers down to the edge of the cliff, and for a brief moment, he wonders if it would be so hard to take one tiny step forward and actually follow through with his wishes. His feathers flutter slightly, and Dream’s body goes numb as he shifts his weight onto his toes, then onto his heels, rocking back and forth. 

There’s a light smatter of snow scattered on the mountaintop, crunching underneath his lightweight boots. Dream’s vision tunnels — twisting and turning and expanding until all he can see is the sharp drop of the cliff and the toe of his left boot hanging over it. He edges closer, bit by bit, until the only thing keeping him centered and balanced on the edge is his drooping wings, the tips of the black feathers making shallow ruts in the snow. 

A hysterical smile spreads across Dream’s frozen lips — of course his wings, the only reminder that he was once a former angel with glory and grace is the one dragging him back from his second fall. It’s a burden, and one he will be glad to be relieved of. 

Dream forces his inky wings to flutter and spread, widening and stretching out to their full length as the blonde braces himself for the fall and whipping of wind against his face, braces himself for the impact that he knows will greet him happily at the edge — and he pushes his foot fully off and leans forward and spreads his arms and closes his eyes, ready for his final fall. He waits for the rush of heavenly memories, but they never come. 

Instead, all he feels is a rough, calloused grip curling around his wrist, blunt fingernails digging into the prominent bone. Startled, Dream’s eyes fly open and he whirls around — but not fast enough and suddenly his back is to the edge of the mountain, and he’s still falling and he can see wide-blown crimson eyes and flying pink hair and the gleam of a golden crown flashing into large green eyes swirling with dozens of different shades-

A yelp rips its way out of Dream’s throat as the side of the cliff comes rushing towards his face, reaching out a hand to lessen the rough impact. There is a harsh jerk and a burning of the skin on his wrist, and then when everything slows once again, Dream finds himself hanging by a grip on his wrist off the edge of the cliff he’d teetered upon. He glances up and finds terrified blood-red eyes staring back at him, wide with adrenaline and fear. Dream’s feet are hanging limply in the air, wind whistling beneath him as it snakes around in the void below. 

The corners of Dream’s lips lift again, and this time, it’s because of irony and dark amusement — of course the blood god, the fallen king banished for being too violent, for having an insatiable thirst for blood, is the one that saves him — but Technoblade doesn’t seem to find anything humorous and instead shouts something unintelligible to Dream’s buzzing ears, reaching down another hand. His fingertips are an unnatural white, most likely due to the nipping chill. Dream stares at it, feeling his wings droop behind him. He realizes that he doesn’t even have the remaining strength to spread them properly, and something cracks in his chest. 

Suddenly _(or maybe not, maybe this was what he wanted the whole time)_ , Dream doesn’t want to reach up. He doesn’t want to curl his fingers around Techno’s, doesn’t want to slip his hand into Techno’s larger palm and be yanked upwards. Dream doesn’t want to be saved. He wants to feel it all, the memories and the ache and the pain and the last breath before he was _finally_ released. He’s been waiting for it. 

The wind picks up, pressing more insistently against his back and ruined wings. Dream shivers and looks up at Techno again. 

The pig hybrid’s gone silent, but his widened eyes are still staring down at Dream, usually blank vermillion irises now shadowed with raw fear. 

Raw fear at... what? 

At losing Dream? 

The thought sparks something in the blonde’s chest — something that Dream hasn’t felt in so long, it feels unfamiliar and strange. 

It feels similar to what he’d felt when he’d first visited humans as an angel. Their overwhelming passion, surprising for their brief lifespans, had fascinated Dream. How was it that these useless, short-lived creatures felt and loved so strongly, as opposed to the angels of god? How was it that the angels were the cold, stoic ones that never felt anything but the palest, faded shades of emotions? Dream had felt hopeless, then — maybe immortals were never meant to feel as deeply as humans. Maybe that was their curse, their sacrifice in exchange for an indefinite life. 

Now that Dream looks up at Techno, he thinks that he was wrong, he thinks that immortals can feel as strongly as humans — and the pure, unfiltered terror swirling in crimson is the cause of Dream’s other hand that’s slowly drifting up to meet Techno’s bigger one reaching down, cold and slender fingers wrapping around freezing and pale ones. 

Relief floods into Techno’s eyes, and then suddenly Dream is being pulled upwards and into the air, wings fluttering frantically, the death grip on his pulsing wrist loosening as he tumbles onto the flat plateau again, snow crunching underneath his figure as he collapses onto his knees. The cold whiteness melts and water seeps into the knees of his pants, making Dream shiver — but the cold is soon forgotten as Techno swoops over him, curling his arms around Dream’s waist and pulling him closer to his warm body. 

Techno is careful not to disturb Dream’s damaged wings as he rips his cape off, settling it gently across Dream’s back instead. The blonde tries to protest, pushing the fluffy red fabric away, but Techno persists and Dream ends up with the cape hanging loosely around his shoulders, wings curled around his thin form to allow for the cape. 

Dream doesn’t dare look up at Techno, because he knows what he’ll find. Pity, mainly. Perhaps some misplaced awe or maybe a dash of disgust sprinkled in along with the others. He feels foolish; perhaps it was better if immortals truly only felt diluted shadows of emotions. 

Or maybe Techno won’t care. Dream hopes he doesn’t. 

At least, that’s what Dream tells himself. He tells himself he doesn’t want Techno to care, that he himself doesn’t care, that he would be better off that way — but he knows he’s just lying to himself and the memories of his former home and glory and _friends_ flash before his closed eyelids, a tiny glimpse of what he could’ve had that he’s been grasping at for the longest time, and suddenly he’s choking back sobs that he’s held in for far too long. He misses them dearly; he misses everything he’s sacrificed. 

Dream momentarily forgets Techno’s presence, and when he remembers, it’s because the pinkette is pulling away. Dream reaches out and grabs his arm, scrubbing at his eyes and drawing in gasping breaths, as if that’ll help him calm down faster. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just — I didn’t mean to, Techno, please-” His words are crumbling with sobs and he twists a desperate hand into Techno’s sleeve, holding on for dear life. “Please, don’t leave me.” 

There’s silence from the former king, and Dream takes another deep breath before he risks a glance upwards. His breath hitches. 

He finds a peculiar brew of emotions in Techno’s usually unreadable eyes — fury, relief, residual fear, and something else that seems similar to what made Dream reach up and grab Techno’s hand. There’s none of the pity or disgust he’d expected. 

Dream stares up at Techno, Techno looks down at Dream, and the air between them is charged with that tense _something._ Slowly, ever so slowly, Techno’s hand rises and his fingertips glide over Dream’s cheekbones, brush over wet tears and skate over expanses of pale freckles and thin scars. Dream’s glassy green eyes are wide, and Techno can see uncertainty and hope swimming around in their depths behind the tears. 

A million thoughts should be racing through Dream’s head right now, but the blonde finds his mind surprisingly silent for once as Techno slides a hand into Dream’s cold golden locks, leans forward, and presses his lips against Dream’s. 

Dream stiffens with surprise for a brief moment before he kisses back, chapped lips moving gently against soft ones. His nose is tucked against Techno’s, and he can smell blood and iron and potatoes and Dream just melts against Techno’s warmth because it’s been far too long since he’s been this close to another person before. The streaks of tears going down his cheeks are forgotten as he shifts closer to Techno, arms finding their way around the pig hybrid’s neck. 

The pinkette’s sharp canines graze his bottom lip, and with a gasp, Dream’s lips part on their own accord and suddenly Techno’s tongue is in his mouth, exploring every little crevice of Dream’s mouth and Dream’s senses are overloaded with just Techno, Techno, _Techno_ because he’s feeling everything, waves of emotions running down his limbs and spine and-

A burst of pain flares in Dream’s ebony wings as Techno presses harder against him, and the blonde flinches, pulling away from pinkette for a split moment before yanking at the former king’s shirt and frantically pulling him back down. He doesn’t want Techno to stop, doesn’t want any of this to stop. 

Technoblade stills for a moment, and then he gently pries Dream’s hands away, cupping the blonde’s jaw and brushing a fleeting kiss on the tip of his nose. His fingers are light as they wipe away stray tears on Dream’s cheeks. “We’ve gotta get you inside, Dream.” His crimson eyes drift behind him, raking over his ragged black wings, and the usually bright color darkens. 

Dream shivers, feeling the tears cooling against his flushed skin and the ghost of his heavenly memories clinging to his mind and the slight impression of Techno’s lips against his, and nods.

Perhaps he truly was wrong.

Dream’s fingers are curled around a steaming cup of tea, and he probably shouldn’t be clutching the hot cup this hard — he can feel the burn on his palms — but he really can’t bring himself to care about that. His bandaged wrist is pulsing with pain again, but he can’t bring himself to care about that either, because all of his attention is captured by Technoblade. 

The former king is rustling around in the kitchen, probably looking for another mug, and his back is to Dream — probably for the best, because the blonde is practically drooling over how undeniably _hot_ he looks. 

Techno is wearing a tan turtleneck, the clothing clinging to his built frame like it was stitched specifically for him. His thin-framed glasses are perched on his nose, his rosy pink hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Half of the pony has already escaped, and Dream’s fingers itch to card themselves through the soft strands. 

Dream clutches the mug harder and swallows, mouth dry. He would take a sip of the beverage gripped in his hands, if not for the fact that he despised tea. 

Techno spares him a glance, and the dangerous edges of his sculpted lips curl into a smirk. “You really like my cape, huh?” 

Dream doesn’t say anything, choosing to huddle further into the velvety fabric instead of replying. Techno gives a short huff of amusement and turns back around, feeling green eyes flicker and latch onto his form the moment he turned. He mixes himself a cup of tea — he’s been trying to stay away from caffeine ever since Ghostbur had scolded him for practically living off of the beverage — and sits down in front of Dream, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. He takes a sip of tea and raises an eyebrow at Dream, who averts his green irises and fidgets with his cape. 

Techno waits, patient. He doesn’t want to press the blonde — he knows Dream will tell him of his own accord, and if that’s never, then so be it.

As Techno takes one of his last sips of slowly cooling tea, Dream finally opens his mouth hesitantly.

“I…” Dream’s soft voice becomes even quieter, trailing off into nothing.

Techno places his mug down, careful to not make a loud sound, and nods for Dream to go on. The blonde takes a deep breath and twists his hands, so harshly that Techno almost winces. “I don’t — I don’t even know where to start, so you can just ask questions and- I can answer them.” 

Techno isn’t familiar with asking questions — he usually prefers to sit back and let the other person talk, but since it’s Dream, he nods once and just stares at the other for a moment. He can see the blonde shifting self-consciously under his gaze, and he formulates a question in his head. 

“Are you an angel?” 

It’s a bad question, Techno can tell — Dream flinches, probably thinking of what had happened before his exile, knees curling up to his chest protectively — and Techno’s just about to take the question back when Dream takes in a shaky inhale and speaks. 

“Yes, I am- well, I _was_ an angel.” His voice quivers as he corrects himself, and as Techno watches him duck his head, he has no doubt Dream’s deep green eyes are glassy again. 

He’s hesitant whether to continue with his inquiries, but Dream gives him a jerky nod after scrubbing at his eyes with oversized sleeves. Techno hasn’t noticed them before, and just now realizes how adorable Dream looks in sweater paws. “You- you can go on. It’s okay.” 

Techno gives a soft hum of affirmation and picks his mug up again, placing it in his lap and staring at it, thinking. “Were you exiled?” He glances up, just in time to catch Dream nodding. 

“Yeah, I was.” The blonde’s voice chokes in between the words, and Techno aches to reach out and wrap Dream up in his arms and preferably a dozen more blankets, just cuddling the poor, traumatized former angel. 

He doesn’t though, and keeps his hands in his lap. 

“Why?” 

Dream fiddles with the tassels on Techno’s cape for a moment before answering, “I… um, well, I was too... violent in the war?” Techno’s ears perk. He’s heard much about the great war between heaven and hell, and he’d wished for the chance to be able to fight in the war — but as he takes in the blonde’s broken expression and burnt ashy wings, he takes his admiration back. 

Dream continues. “And… the elders didn’t like that. They thought I was too violent, too corrupt to stay in heaven. So,” his shoulders lift slightly in a weak shrug, and at this point, Dream looks like he doesn’t care — but his watery eyes scream otherwise. “They exiled me. My wings got burnt in the fall, and-” he gestures to the large scorches, ruined feathers fluttering aside, and a self-deprecating smile crawls across his lips. It’s painful to look at it. “Yeah. I can’t fly anymore.” 

There’s a quiet silence as Techno takes in this information. He clears his throat. “How long ago?” 

“A bit more than a year and half, give or take some.” Dream’s posture is slumped, and he looks thoroughly defeated. “I miss them.” 

He doesn’t need to clarify who ‘they’ are. Techno stares down at his lap, at his empty mug. 

“Sapnap and George?” 

Another smile — wistful, this time — tilts the corners of Dream’s lips. “They remind me of them. Back in heaven.” 

Techno is silent for a moment longer, and then he asks the question they’ve both been dreading. “What were you doing on that mountain?” 

A sigh works its way out of Dream’s mouth, and the blonde shifts his wings so that they’re curled around him a little tighter. The feathery appendages look a little like Philza’s, but the quills are a stark black, with ash-gray tips. “Listen, Techno, it wasn’t- it wasn’t what you’re thinking. I just... I was wondering if I could still fly. You know.” 

Techno regards him with pursed lips and skeptical eyes; the ends of his stories don’t match up and the pinkette is tempted to ask exactly how the other was planning to “fly” — but that would be an asshole move, and not even Techno is that rude. 

So instead, he just nods stiffly and points at Dream’s untouched mug. “Are you gonna drink that?” 

Dream glances down at it, seemingly surprised and slightly relieved at the sudden change of topic. He shakes his head, though, and sets the cup down. “No, I don’t — I don’t really drink tea.” He smiles apologetically, but his expression is strangely empty. “Sorry.” 

Techno shrugs. “Don’t be,” he says, and leans back in his chair once again. He hadn’t even realized he was sitting on the edge of his seat. “So.” 

Dream swallows visibly and looks down at his pale, scarred hands. 

There’s silence, hanging in the air by a thin, thin thread. Techno wants to snap it — he’s pretty sure he can do it easily — but before the pinkette can ruin the mood with his stupid bumbling mouth and awkward, heavy words, Dream speaks. The words are rushed and his tone is off-kilter, like he’d wavered between saying it and not for the longest time before making an impulsive decision to let the words tumble from between his lips. 

"Are you really a god?" 

Techno regards him for a moment, watching as Dream fidgets and tugs at his fingers anxiously, and then he finally replies. 

"Not a god, just favored by one."

A brief flash of surprise slides across Dream's face, and before he can stop himself, the blonde is blurting out, “You- you remind me of angels." Techno's taken aback, skepticality staining his features, and Dream struggles to explain further. “Like- you never really showed any... emotions? Around me? And I just thought- because it felt so similar to angels back in heaven-" His cheeks stain with scarlet. "I didn't think you would be a human." 

Techno’s mouth briefly lifts with humor at how flustered Dream is. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, teeth bared and glinting in a smile. It’s amusing to see how quickly the blonde’s cheeks can flood with red, and now that Dream’s mask is off and placed on the table before them, he can see the other in all of his flushed glory.

“Don’t inflate your ego, it’s already big enough,” the blonde grumbles, but there’s no bite in his words, and a shit-eating grin spreads across Techno’s lips. 

“Hypocritical, much?” 

Dream scoffs and his wings flutter slightly. The movement draws Techno’s cerise irides, pupils tracking the outline of them. “I’ve fought against several hellish soldiers at once, went on a killing spree against the laws of heaven, and then fell from grace in black clothes and chains. I think I’m allowed to have a little bit of an ego.” 

Techno raises an eyebrow. “Killing spree?” 

The dirty blonde tenses — he’s run his mouth too much, his words scrambling away from him the way they do when he gets too comfortable, and Dream wishes to the hated high heavens that there was an undo button on words. He says stiffly, “Don’t you remember how I got exiled?” 

Techno taps his fingers on his knee, a strangely hypnotic movement that Dream follows with his forest eyes. “Yeah, but- a killing spree? That sounds way too familiar.” 

A quiet, dull laugh falls from Techno’s lips, and it’s uncomfortably similar to what Dream has heard countless times in the perfect courts of heaven. Then the blonde remembers the man sitting in front of him is a former king — banished, for being too violent — and he understands.

It’s amusing to see how fate ties two similar souls together, intertwining their pasts and weaving their futures with the same threads using her nimble, spidery-thin fingers. 

“At least we have each other?” he offers, the statement turning into a question at the end, and Techno looks up. 

“Yeah.” There’s no hesitation, no pause in the way Techno has agreed, and it warms Dream’s freezing limbs, making the blonde’s fingertips tingle the way they do when he puts them too close to a crackling fire. 

“At least we have each other.” 

“How did you get this one?” Dream asks, briefly releasing Techno’s hair to poke at a long slash — healed with hardened skin — on Techno’s bicep, and the pinkette shrugs. 

“I think someone stabbed me with a sword,” he says thoughtfully, and Dream snorts. 

“No shit, Techno.” His fingers tug on soft rose strands of hair, plaiting the thin locks until the pig hybrid finally has two small braids that are made of the hairs that fall into his crimson eyes. Dream pulls the braids back, tying the two together neatly with a band Techno had slipped off his wrist. 

The dirty blonde leans back to admire his work — he’s tried a half-up half-down hairstyle but with braids this time, and it’s turned out better than Dream’s expected. Sure, the braids are a little uneven, and there are stray hairs poking out from various parts of the hairstyle, but it’s pretty and looks good on Techno (although everything does, so that doesn’t count). 

“You should wear this hairstyle more often,” Dream murmurs, splaying his palms against Techno’s shoulders, and the pinkette tilts his head back to stare at Dream from his position on the floor and between Dream’s legs. 

“I will if you do my hair,” he says abruptly, and Dream feels a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He forces it away through sheer willpower. 

“You know I’m bad at doing hairstyles,” he reminds Techno. “Besides, I might not have the time to do it everyday.” 

“It doesn’t have to look good. Hell, you don’t even have to do my hair. Just- just touch my hair everyday, and we’ll be good.” 

Dream raises an eyebrow and watches a slight flicker of resigned amusement flash across Techno’s eyes — the blonde’s finally getting chances to use that infamous expression, with one eyebrow perched up high on his forehead, against Techno and Dream’s going to use it whenever he can. 

“Touch starved, much?” 

A frown carves itself onto Techno’s lips, and he reaches up to graze Dream’s cheek with his fingers. The blonde leans unconsciously into his touch before jerking back, cheeks flushed, and Techno smirks. “Hypocritical, much?” 

The familiar words make Dream pout — something he would most definitely deny doing later — but he continues running his fingers through Techno’s hair, working out the knots and strangles at the tips. The pinkette hums and continues leaning back, staring up at Dream. 

His wine-red eyes drift to the wings dropping behind Dream, and he — for some reason he didn’t know; maybe instinct buried deep inside from his former days as a king — lifts his hand and brushes one of Dream’s wings. 

The blonde jumps, flinching and jerking back quickly. His wings flutter behind him, pulling out of Techno’s reach, and the pig hybrid’s eyes widen as he rambles out apologies. 

“Sorry, Dream, I thought — well, I didn’t think — but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just- maybe I could take care of your wings? Like you did with my hair? I’ve done it before with Phil, and it’s just that- your wings look a little… rough. I thought-” Techno winces at the way his words are coming out; all wrong and stumbling against one another and not at all how he meant them to be. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He turns back around, slumping between Dream’s legs and leaning against the front of the couch. 

Dream eyes him hesitantly, and after a moment passes, a slight grin twists his lips. He reaches down and gently tips Techno’s head back by pressing a finger under his chin. “Actually, I think I’d like that.” 

Before Techno can react, he’s being pulled up onto the couch with a surprising amount of strength with Dream settling himself in front of Techno, wings flapping to keep his balance. Ebony feathers flutter in the pinkette’s face, tickling his nose, and he kinda wants to bury his face in them. They’re soft and smell burnt. It tickles his nose. 

Dream turns his head, raising an eyebrow and tugging at Techno’s arms, guiding them to the back of his wings. The blonde gestures vaguely, shifting his wings so that Techno can have better access. “Just- do your thing, yeah?” 

Techno stares down at the mop of woven gold hair, at the large wings and the ebony feathers whose tips are painted with ashy gray, at the singed edges and scorched plumes, and feels daunted — but he’s not gonna let that stop him, so he gets to work. 

He reaches out, unsure, and brushes his fingertips over the twisted feathers, the fringed edges and burned plumes, relishing in the way Dream shudders at Techno’s touch. He faintly remembers Philza telling him that angels’ wings are extremely sensitive — as opposed to his wings as an older god —, and a smirk makes its way onto his mouth. He tucks that information away in his mind and continues studying Dream’s damaged wings, taking in all of the minor and major injuries and bad feathers he has to take care of. 

When he’s done with his analysis, he reaches out and begins to fiddle with the first couple of tangled feathers, slowly unknotting them. Everything he’s been taught as a child about how to take care of wings from Philza slowly comes leaking back, and soon enough, Techno’s fingers are moving across the wide expanse of Dream’s wings confidently, plucking out a loose, damaged feather here and smoothing out messy snarls there. 

As Techno works on his wings, Dream relaxes more and more until he’d practically melted into a puddle of goo, his mind blank except for the feeling of the pinkette’s fingers gliding against his wings. It’s been far too long since someone has properly preened him, and Dream has ached for someone to take care of him and his wings for the longest time. 

When Techno’s done with the worst bits, Dream sighs and stretches, newly preened wings twitching as he reveled in the feeling of the constant itchiness and grime fading away. “You’re a lifesaver,” the blonde sighs, and wriggles in his seat between Techno’s legs again. The pig hybrid suddenly hooks his legs around Dream’s torso and drags him back until his back is pressed up against Techno’s chest. 

Dream flushes as the pinkette rests his chin on his shoulder, grinning widely. “Me, a lifesaver? That’s gotta be a first.” 

“...I’m not wrong, though.” Dream’s mind drifts back to this morning, and how the urge to fall had been so strong. He had just wanted to see his friends once again, even if it was the pathetically faded ghosts of them in his pathetically faint memories. 

A sigh rushes out of Techno’s mouth, and he buries his nose in Dream’s shoulder. “I’m not going to press, Dream, but please — don’t do that again. You gave me a heart attack, I can still hear my heart hammering in my ears.” 

Dream smiles, and it’s tiny and insignificant; but it’s also filled with warm hope and genuine joy. Techno wonders what the blonde had meant about angels not showing emotions — the (admittedly fallen) angel in front of him is simply overflowing with golden, sticky-sweet honey and bright sunshine.

“Okay, Techno,” Dream agrees softly, and the blood god feels his heart melt a little. 

* * *

Dream still yearns to feel the wind pressing against his figure as he falls and twists through the air, ragged wings flaring out by his side as his mind flashes with treasured and forgotten memories, but the tantalizing pull becomes a little less and less as Techno tugs on his hair and murmurs something about braiding it soon, as he nods off and wakes up to a light brushing of Techno’s lips against his, soft and gentle, as the porcelain mask leaves his face more and more often around Techno until he rarely wears it around the pig hybrid anymore. 

Dream thinks he’s finally found an immortal who feels as deeply, as strongly, as humans do — and it’s Technoblade of all people, the proclaimed blood “god” and former, shunned king.

He loves him, and Dream thinks Techno might love him back. 

They’ve both fallen from grace at separate times, but maybe they can fall once again — together — back into a new kind of grace. 

**Author's Note:**

> ... it’s literally 1:51 am at the time i’m writing this story someone make me go to sleep please 
> 
> bUT anyways how did you all like the fic?? i struggled like. so hard. with this lmAO had a few breakdowns over how unstructured this was and ended up dming myself random shit to try and talk it out LOL 
> 
> it’s just like 5.4k+ words of.... random fallen angel!dream and former king!techno that no one asked for 👁  
> (i doubt anyone’s gonna completely read this through LOL)
> 
> sigh i really gotta stop staying up until the ungodly hours to finish these things hhhhdisjshahaj 
> 
> anyways if you have the time, please, leave a comment down below 🥺 they fuel me more than the anguished tears of my readers can :3 anything from just a few kind words to constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is welcomed :D 
> 
> now that i’m done with my rambling, i’ll finally go to sleep and probably post this sometime in the next day or so LOL drink water, take care of yourself, and stay safe loves!! C:
> 
> i just realized i forgot to plug the dnb discord link here so... here it is? have fun C:  
> https://discord.gg/dfyy3AGr2C


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